


Hereditary enemies

by doomed_spectacles



Series: Spooky Omens: 13 Days of Halloween! [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Flirting, Flirting with your hereditary enemy, M/M, Meet-Cute, Vampires, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27148978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles
Summary: What to do when one meets one's hereditary enemy on a wall? For this vampire and this werewolf, the answer is flirt. Clearly.The moonlight shone on the wolf — now man — as his mane was transformed into long red hair that fell down his back in loose waves. The rest of his fur receded from view, leaving his body bare and pale. Unlike his companions wreaking havoc on the humans below, this werewolf was able to take on an altogether more appealing appearance.“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” the werewolf said, once he was seated on the wall.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Spooky Omens: 13 Days of Halloween! [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978405
Comments: 1
Kudos: 95
Collections: Racket’s 13 Days of Halloween





	Hereditary enemies

**Author's Note:**

> Racket's 13 days of Halloween, day 4: Vampires!

The vampire had been sitting on a wall watching the carnage unfolding in the village below for roughly an hour when he heard a creature approaching. He looked down and, sure enough, one of the werewolves was climbing up.

The wolf had sleek black fur that shone smooth in the light of the full moon. The muscles in his back undulated as he climbed, digging sharp claws into the brick wall. His mane was a deep red where it ran along his spine and so slick it almost looked like scales. Bright yellow eyes were only broken by thin, serpentine slits. The effect was _magnificent_. As Aziraphale watched, the wolf reached the rampart where he sat, and the creature began to change. His body contracted, staying long and lean but losing its muzzle and haunches in favor of sharp cheekbones and slim hips covered by a thin black robe.

The moonlight shone on the wolf — now man — as his mane was transformed into long red hair that fell down his back in loose waves. The rest of his fur receded from view, leaving his body bare and pale. Unlike his companions wreaking havoc on the humans below, this werewolf was able to take on an altogether more _appealing_ appearance.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” the werewolf said, once he was seated on the wall.

Aziraphale laughed nervously. The creature sitting next to him really had no business being so attractive. The robe was loose around his shoulders but Aziraphale could see the lean muscles of his neck pulled taut as he worked his jaw.

“Yes, I-” He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. Below, a vampire helped himself to an elderly farmer’s neck. That would be Sandalphon, always eager to please. The man's screams were faint up on the wall, but not inaudible. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said, well that went down like a lead balloon.”

The werewolf, for that’s what he was even if he looked like an attractive not-quite-human, made a face and indicated the slaughter happening below their feet. He looked and sounded nonchalant, but there was a sympathetic note in his voice that Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to make of. A huge grey wolf leaped out of the shadows and tore open the throat of an unsuspecting woman. He feasted, then threw back his head at the moon and howled. The woman’s blood glistened, covering the wolf’s muzzle and spilling down his breast.

Aziraphale tutted at the sight, then reigned in his eager fangs.

“Didn’t you have a silver-tipped sword?” the handsome werewolf asked. “You did, it was flashing in the moonlight last month.” He inclined his head and peered at Aziraphale. His keen yellow eyes glowed in the pale light and Aziraphale caught a glimpse of very sharp white teeth as he grinned. “Lost it, have you?”

The wolf was taunting him. Now _that_ was simply not to be tolerated. Aziraphale flushed, but instead of feeling the white heat of rage, he clasped his hands in embarrassment and turned his head.

“Gave it away,” he muttered.

“You what?”

“I gave it away!” Aziraphale said, annoyed at the plaintive tone his voice had taken without his consent. But the wolf simply stared at him, his dangerous mouth open in surprise. The sight of his sharp canines should’ve inspired fear or enmity in Aziraphale's heart. It didn’t; it inspired something else entirely.

He nodded to the village below, mid-ransack. A group of Aziraphale's vampire colleagues had pinned a werewolf under a net. The creature thrashed about wildly, snarling and flinging fur everywhere. Aziraphale imagined the creature beside him shifting, taking the same sinewy shape as the wolf below. His mane would be gleaming blood-red in the moonlight as he sweated, struggling against his bonds.

Aziraphale gulped. He struggled to focus on the conversation.

“That human, see the one?” He pointed to a man, inexpertly wielding an ornate sword. He slashed wildly at the vampires who circled him. He stood at the threshold of a wooden door, back to solid oak. The smell of fear wafted out through shattered windows. Inside, a group of children whimpered.

Aziraphale leaned closer to the werewolf. He could feel the heat coming off the creature’s body and he longed for it like he longed for the kiss of the sun on his back.

“He’s the village baker,” Aziraphale whispered. “Makes lovely loaves of bread. I had a bun of his the other day that was simply scrumptious!” He couldn’t help but wiggle, though he knew it made him look ridiculous. His colleagues had made that quite clear.

But the creature just stared open-mouthed. Slowly, he blinked.

“The baker? But you’re a-”

Aziraphale sighed. _Of course_ he wouldn’t understand. “A vampire, yes, I know. But it’s a common misperception that we only drink blood. We don’t need to eat or drink, of course, but you know what they say. Variety is the spice of life!”

He grinned, then thought for a moment. “After-life, I suppose.”

When the beautiful creature next to him remained silent, Aziraphale continued. “I suppose I did the wrong thing.”

“Well,” the wolf drawled, “you’re a vampire, aren’t you supposed to do the wrong thing? Who am I to tell, anyway.”

“Right, just so. Um-”

“Crawly.”

Aziraphale inclined his head to Crawly. “Crawly.” The name sounded almost right on his tongue. Like it would be right, eventually, but not quite yet.

“Besides, what’s a loaf of bread without some wine?” From a pouch tied around his slim waist, Crawly produced a jug. It was Aziraphale’s turn to gape.

“You-”

“See that woman down there?” Crawly pointed to a stout young woman with a long braid slung over her shoulder. She was wielding an axe in one hand and a flaming torch in the other. She swiveled, keeping the wolves at bay with the fire and slashing at them with the axe when they came too close. The pack of werewolves growled at both her and the vampires attacking the villagers. Crawly and Aziraphale watched while she nudged the wolves closer to a pair of vampires and a tense vampire-werewolf standoff ensued. The woman slipped by, unnoticed.

“She’s the vintner. Gave her a few tips.” Crawly smirked and passed the wine.

Aziraphale took a sip. He smiled a toothy smile at his hereditary enemy, who raised a thick reddish eyebrow in return. This was shaping up to be a rather unexpected evening, indeed.


End file.
